Sanctuary
by Avari20
Summary: Caroline and Klaus are finally moving on, ready to leave New Orleans. In Renaissance Italy Lucrezia Borgia struggles with the darkness she now realizes resides in her. Cesare's pull is stronger than ever, but for the first time Lucrezia wonders if it is God that sits with them...or the Devil. When Caroline encounters a piece of Klaus' past, worlds collide. Inertia Overcome Universe
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

**This was written as a result of a conversation with ravenclawslibrary that basically started out with, "Hey, did you ever wonder what would happen if Cesare Borgia was a vampire?**

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><p>Gray welled up in my vision and suddenly burst into little stars. I clutched my head and stumbled to the side. I really thought I'd be sick. My eyes squeezed shut. Seriously? A dizzy spell—did vampires even <em>have<em> those?

A second later the bile went down. Whoa. I had no idea what happened but I didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. I turned for the door. "Klaus? I need to talk-"

I froze.

I couldn't compute.

No.

This was not real.

The room was gone. There _wasn't_ a room. _Why_ wasn't there a room? Why was there dirt and walls and an alley way in front of me with laundry hanging on lines between windows? When did I get outside?

Sound suddenly flooded my ears. Sensory overload. Like life had somehow been on pause while someone turned up the 4D experience and then suddenly hit "play". Smells, sights, sensations. There were people yelling and talking at the mouth of the alley. Their shadows darted back and forth and they weren't paying any attention at all.

I clutched my nose and gagged. Oh my God, what was that smell?

I looked down. Rough cobblestones were under my boot heels, just a bunch of rocks pushed into the ground, like no one had bothered to put that much effort into it. There was trash of every imaginable kind next to each wall.

I clamped my hand down harder. I was pretty sure this was someone's version of an outside bathroom.

My feet didn't seem to want to work properly, so I stumbled toward the opening, hoping for something familiar and totally afraid I wasn't going to get it.

It was so hot. The weight of it was pulling on my jacket and jeans. This wasn't March in New Orleans. This was...was...dry heat. Italy in August kind of heat.

The space was so narrow I wouldn't have to extend my arms completely to touch both buildings. I reached out for something to hold onto, blindly feeling for the wall. My fingers met warm stone and that was the only thing keeping me grounded right then. Horror was filling up my belly and I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to look.

I had to look.

I peered out.

My breath froze in my throat.

People everywhere. Dust rose up from everybody's feet and caught the golden sunlight until it was a kind of cloud. There were fabric covered stalls, women with baskets, kids running around between the adults, and men pulling carts. The buildings lined the square in a haphazard border, full of windows and columns and murals decorating the doors.

Language was tossed back and forth like a verbal ball, and none of it made any sense to me. It flowed up and down the way Italian did, but actual words were lost on me, all jumbled up.

And nobody—nobody—was wearing modern clothes.

Oh God. Did I get dropped into a remake of _Romeo and Juliet_?

Did I even get freakin' dropped?

What happened to me?

Something flew past my peripheral vision and I lurched back deeper into the shade. The pot barely missed me and crashed onto the ground. Splat. Shards.

A man I hadn't realized was a man—he looked just like a pile of rags slumped over against the building—suddenly jumped up and started shaking his fist at someone in the window.

He stopped. Looked. He saw me and his eyes went wide.

He was scruffy and dirty, with a strange patch of skin on the bottom left cheek where his beard didn't grow anymore. His hair was long and scraggly, like he hadn't washed in weeks, and he was more tan than I could ever hope to be.

He gave me the once-over, and suddenly I realized what he could see: a blonde girl wearing skinny jeans and boots, with no head covering, and no idea what the hell was going on.

I didn't need to know more than that to realize this was _not_ where I wanted to be.

I flashed backward, to the other end of the alley and around the corner.

I threw myself into the first available doorway I could find. That's when the screaming started. "_Il demone!__Il demone!_"

Not good not good not good!

I buried my hands in my hair, trying to remember what could possibly have brought me here. I was at home. Klaus had a bunch of things shipped to us from other houses so he could sell them. We were moving, but he totally sucked at organizing this kind of thing so I decided to do it myself.

_Think Caroline. _

I opened a chest—an honest to God chest from who knew when—and there were a bunch of clothes inside. I picked some up and I think I touched something. Could have been metal. It happened so fast I couldn't be sure, because then the weirdness happened and I was here.

Witch magic. Had to be.

I leaned against the stone and slid down, shaken. Normally I'd say that I could handle a lot. I was married to Klaus friggin' Mikaelson, Supernatural Enemy #1. It didn't get much tougher than that.

I exhaled. "I should have known." Things could _always_ get tougher, and more important, they could get weird.

Very weird. And surreal, and about three dozen other adjectives I could come up with but wouldn't help me figure out where I was.

Sorry, _when_ I was.

Because I was pretty sure I'd just time traveled.

I breathed in, held it, then let it out. Okay. Not to panic. Panicking would help in literally no way.

The guy from the alley. He was drawing attention. I couldn't stick around.

I started to get up and my eyes caught on my class ring. The ring that was the only thing keeping me from frying in the sun. Bonnie spelled it for me twelve years ago—in the future. Dread prickled the hair on the back of my neck. Was there an expiration on these things? Like, a time travel clause?

I looked up and around. It was all shade between the buildings here. No direct sunlight. I could have been toast because I wasn't paying attention.

Great. Just great. I may not be able to go anywhere and worse, I didn't think I could risk being seen. Nobody was going to ignore a girl in jeans here. That was, like, a _big_ no no.

I looked at the door. There wasn't a choice. I'd have to knock and try to get invited in.

I straightened and quickly brushed myself off. Had to look presentable. It may be a no no, but presentation was half the battle...right?

I lifted my hand to knock.

Wait. What if the person that answered wasn't the person that owned the building? I leaned back and quickly squinted. It didn't look like much. Some flowers, a few open windows. I had about a fifty fifty chance of getting someone to let me inside.

Assuming they spoke English.

Oh jeez. All I had under my belt was two years of high school Spanish and intermediate level German.

_I'm so screwed. _

My heart sank all the way down to my toes. That panic I was trying to hold back? Some of it was bleeding into my lungs. I was in a jam of catastrophic proportions, and I was at a complete loss as to what to do about it. No, no. I had to think. Had to believe I could do this. I was thirty years old. I wasn't a baby—at least not in human years. I could handle this.

I stood there, my mind going around and around and around and coming up with absolutely nothing and pretty sure that panic was in full on mode when-

A bell tolled. I paused, not daring to hope. A church bell?

It was. Church bell meant church. I may not have known much Italian but I had watched a heck of a lot of movies. From _The Highlander _to _The Hunchback of Notre Dame,_ church equaled sanctuary.

Sanctuary. Safety. I just had to figure out how to get to it.

Feeling hope surge again, I quickly stepped out into the street, glancing back and forth cautiously to make sure nobody was coming. I couldn't risk zooming off, so I hurried down it at a human pace, keeping my hand on the rough walls, trying to catch a glimpse of a church steeple.

There. I could see a spire peeking over the rooftops.

I had to get there as fast as possible. My luck at avoiding people wasn't going to last forever.

As soon as that thought crossed my mind, a couple of girls suddenly walked right into my path.

_Friggin' Murphy's Law._

They stopped in their tracks, baskets swinging on their arms.

They stared at me. I stared back.

Dammit. "Just so you know," I said, biting my lip, "I'm really sorry about this."

I rushed them.

xxxXxxx

It was the silence that alerted me.

My paintbrush paused on the canvas, I cocked my head with a frown. Nothing moved upstairs.

That was far from normal. The brush dropped to the table with a clatter as I walked from my studio into the foyer, gazing up at the grand staircase. "Caroline?" I called up cautiously.

No answer. No music. No indication whatsoever of life above.

"_Caroline_."

Part of me knew that it could be nothing. I was a creature of habit and resentful fear. There were many, many instances in which my paranoia had come to nothing.

But this was my wife, in my home, and neither was truly ever silent.

Something was wrong.

I flashed to the top of the stairs in the blink of an eye, rounding the banister and striding toward the room we had designated our hideaway. The door was cracked open. When I shoved it out of my way the smell of dust and age was flush in the air—but no familiar citrus. "Caroline! Answer me," I growled.

No Caroline. Nothing but boxes and sheets that were as still as the grave. There was a chest open and clothes discarded carelessly on the floor.

My nostrils flared. That scent. Just a whiff and I was bristling.

Witchcraft.

How the devil that should be true in this of all houses mattered not. My wife was not here, and until that situation was rectified New Orleans would _tremble_.

I almost turned on my heel to storm out when a glint caught my eye. There, in the clothing. Something metallic. Jaw tight, I prowled to the pile and crouched, using one finger to flick the fabric back.

What I saw made my heart clench. "No."

The necklace lay amongst the folds of cloth like a perfect jewel in a blue sea. Remnants of the leather pouch that once contained it lay in ruins. Pearls and sapphires twinkled in the sunlight, mocking me.

Almost three hundred years of memory rushed through my mind's eye, taking me back to 1780s Russia. I took this necklace from a particularly nasty witch—one of Kol's little pets. She was miffed I had killed her brother or uncle or some such. I could not recall, but I did remember the way she collapsed to the ground in a beautiful spray of blood once I cut her throat.

"_Now that wasn't very nice," I murmured around my smile. I licked my fingers, staring at the pretty necklace nestled in her luscious breasts. Rivulets framed the glittering jewels, catching the red and the white of the torches. _

"_Demon," she choked. _

"_I prefer god." I bent and took the necklace in my fingers, liking the weight of it. What an excellent prize for my effort. _

"_One day you will know pain. I swear it on my...soul. That which you love...will be gone from...you..." The light was already fading from her eyes, yet the hate remained undiminished._

_Power surged in the gem, so hot it nearly burned my flesh. _

_I threw my head back and laughed. "Then I have well and truly won. I do not love." _

_She died cursing me._

Hand trembling, I slid my fingers under the studded pendant. Cold. No power left.

Caroline.

My palm stung. My own blood was beginning to flow, cut by the jewels and gold squeezed tight in my fingers.

Caroline.

A mewling, aching sound of rage clawed its way from my throat and slithered through my teeth. That part of me that had been filled by her presence these last ten years began to shake within me. A vampire's greatest weakness. A vampire's greatest weakness!

CAROLINE.

The woman I loved, the woman I had chased for two years and across countless cities, who I longed for and yearned for and demanded in my life and _earned_,_ by all the gods_, gone. Out of sight. Out of reach. Caroline, somewhere I could not touch nor find, alone, vulnerable-

No.

_Never._

There was nowhere on Earth I could not find Caroline Forbes. If fate and circumstances demanded it, I would go into Hell or Dante's circles or across the veil itself to get her back.

_I would get her back. _

"ARTIE!"

_**To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

_Vampire rule number one_: Don't step into the sunlight without a daylight ring. Just don't.

_Vampire rule number two_: Don't touch vervain. Again, just don't.

_Caroline's rule for being a vampire_: Don't compel people to do things against their will unless somebody's life is at stake, and even then exceptions exist.

Caveat to Caroline's rule? Compelling people only works if you speak their language.

I ran a hand over my new dress nervously, trying to smooth away my guilt along with the wrinkles. I think I literally scared the hell out of those girls. I couldn't compel them to give me their clothes, so I had to do the next best thing and...you know...use physical persuasion. They were out cold in that alley, one of them down to what passed for underwear in this era.

That being said, it was unbelievable how many layers I was wearing.

And the clothes weren't exactly pristine. Safe to say that the washing machine and certain bathing practices hadn't been invented yet.

It was the best I was going to get, I reminded myself sternly. At least I didn't stand out anymore. There was a cloth wrapped around my head to cover most of my hair. My boobs were nearly pushed totally out of the dress out, but whatever. Nothing a shirt I wore going clubbing didn't show. There was no reason to feel so exposed. You know, besides the time-traveling thing.

I needed to get to that church. Then I could take a breather and reassess. Maybe figure out what year this was, then how to get back to my own.

I refused to believe that there wasn't a way back. Vampires existed. So did witches, werewolves, and time travel. There was no way this was a one off. So I was going to keep walking down this street and find that church.

People were trickling into my line of sight. The smell did not get any better. I could hear people around me living their lives, totally ignorant of who was passing their houses.

I was almost to the end of the street when I realized something important. I could see the church—uh, cathedral—but to get to it I had to cross a sunny, human filled plaza.

I stopped at the corner, not meeting anybody's gaze. There was no way I could blitz across that distance, and definitely not through that many bystanders. I eyed the daylight like it was my enemy, and in a way it was. All of a sudden those first few days of vampire-hood trapped in my house were crystal clear to me.

I had to get to there. There was only one way.

_Please don't let this hurt too bad._

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I gingerly stuck a finger into the sunlight...

...nothing.

I put my whole hand out. Nothing. Not even a tingle.

I sagged against the stone. "Oh thank god." Bonnie Magic was still alive and well, and so far so was I. This was good. Very good.

Now that that was established, my confidence came surging back. What was a little plaza and time travel? I could totally do this. Not only would I _do_ this, I would _rock_ this. I flicked my bangs out of my eyes and assumed Miss Mystic Falls position.

_Badass Queen of New Orleans coming through._

I stepped out into the sunlight.

xxxXxxx

The corridors of the cathedral were blessedly cool, pungent with the smell of incense. The alcove was quiet, devoid of other sinners, leaving me to light a candle for Alfonso in peace.

Or what passed for it.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," I whispered dully as the wick caught the flame. It entranced me, a glow I could focus on. My eyes hurt from the tears I still could not seem to shed. My husband was dead. I was swathed in mourning. The gown clung to me as if it weighed thrice what it should. Or was that the sleep I could not reach for either?

There was no sanctuary during the night. I thought I could find it here, with God and every other member of the damned. But no matter how bright the candle burned, no matter how long it lasted, it could not alleviate the shadow that had settled over me.

Or make me less aware of the confessional discretely tucked into the far wall. Mocking me.

I sat the candle in its place and contemplated it.

Perhaps the Holy Father would have preferred that I stay out of sight. Alfonso's death was suspicious and the rumors were once again flying.

"_The scandal of Italy."_

I shied away from that memory.

For the third time in my life I was buried deep in loneliness, cut off from that which I loved and took comfort in. The first—when I was a child left behind for the bright world of university. The second when I was sent off to be a wife, cut off from my family. This time, however, I chose the seclusion.

The Devil had reached out to me the night Alfonso died. Now I wondered just how deep His hold on me truly went.

With one sweep of my hand I brushed my skirts aside and knelt before the alter, clasping my hands tight. Would the Holy Virgin hear me? I was not so certain that God would.

How odd, I thought as I bent my head. For so many years I prayed for help, for deliverance, for the safety of my father and my brothers. For my child. For...for Cesare. I even went to my knees in gratitude after he presented me with that bloodied knife. I felt no regret, no dark feelings, only deep satisfaction tinged with mourning for the loss of the girl I used to be.

I knew when I accepted the knife what it said of my character. Never did I believe that I was damned for that. I was wrong and had been avenged. Did not God smite those that had gone against Him?

In that very same vein, never did I believe that I was not doing as He wished when He put such a love in my heart for my brother.

"_A love as pure and all consuming as the love of God."_

How much I cried when Cesare all but ran from me. How much I despaired when he held back over and over. We were Borgias_, _I remembered thinking. There was no one else like us. No one else that could understand us if we did not have each other. We were carved from the same stone, made from the same cloth. How could he deny the truest happiness in our joyless world? Cesare was not a coward. He had never been afraid of anything.

I was so frustrated.

"_I am tired of my husband."_

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"_I am tired of life."_

_No_, I commanded myself when tears threatened._ Do not cry. What is done is done. There is no bringing Alfonso back. _

My heart clenched. He was just a boy, and I was not unfeeling. I simply...did not have enough heart to give him. It belonged to my son...and to Cesare.

I poisoned my husband to spare him pain. Surely a noble thing. Surely an act of kindness.

Then why did I feel so cold inside?

Because when I looked up and saw Cesare's face over mine, I felt joy.

"_God or the Devil?"_ he'd asked me an eternity before.

For the first time, I did not know. For the first time, I began to wonder it was truly God that sat in the room with us.

Or something evil.

But how? How could love be evil? I squeezed my eyes shut so tightly my head ached, railing against this feeling of fear and uncertainty. To be a Borgia was to be better, to be different from anyone else. That was what it took to survive. I swore to myself after Sforza died that I would never be helpless again.

Yet here I was once more.

To be one of the damned was to be lost forever, with no direction and no tranquility. Heaven help me, but I could not rely on Cesare. I could not even go to him, and without him I felt adrift.

What does one do, I wondered wildly, when one cannot trust on one's own judgment any longer?

"_Mine_," he'd whispered that night.

For years I'd wanted that from him. Now that I had it, I wondered at what price it came. And if I was willing to pay it when so much blood rested on my hands already.

A true case of being careful what one wished for.

I knew he was waiting. I could feel his eyes between my shoulders, caressing my neck, lingering on me wherever I went. What I once craved I now dreaded, and I mourned the fact. He would not be patient much longer. He had decided; it was not in Cesare's nature to idle when he settled upon something.

Or someone.

I once asked him if he could not find his missing lover, the nun who broke his heart. I had ached for his pain, and I would never forget the determination in his expression when he said, _"I intend to." _His lips had smiled, but his eyes had not.

There was only so long one could outrun Cesare Borgia. A battle was coming. A battle I was not certain I could or would or—God help me—wanted to win.

I was at war with myself. This feeling I thought to be good now fought with a new and growing certainty; nothing that good could be true.

I kissed my fingers as they tightened. "Blessed Mother, please grant me your guidance."

A door creaked open, disrupting the silence.

My head raised. I frowned. Could I not have peace, even for a moment?

The door closed again. Footsteps thudded a bit on the white marble floor. The cathedral was never truly empty, but this person's footwear clicked heavily.

My heart skipped a beat. Cesare?

"Whoa."

A woman.

Not Cesare. The disappointment mingling with my relief was undoubtedly a sign of how damned I truly was. No matter. The moment was broken, and there was no sanctuary here.

I rose with a rustle of fabric and crossed myself. I would seek out another place to get lost in contemplation. Perhaps a convent somewhere far away, where Rome and all of its complications could not reach.

I strode from the alcove with my head held high.

A figure—a peasant by the looks of it, suddenly whirled about in a wide eyed gaze of fear. "Oh!" Gibberish poured forth.

I stared at her. She smiled, meeting my eyes directly.

Indignation flared at her disrespect for my obvious station, but something about her manner stayed my glare. She was too nervous, too restless. She shifted from one foot to the other, then straightened her shoulders.

There was no trace of subservience there. It was...odd.

She was remarkably tall, almost as tall as Cesare, and her face was clear of the soot that clung to every part of Italy. The dress was far too short, and her feet were shod in...boots? With heels of such height that I was amazed she could stand.

She struck a false note, and years of experience immediately warned me to take care. I quickly schooled my unease, raising my chin.

She cleared her throat and attempted to renew her smile. Her hands fluttered in her dress.

Two rings glittered there. A blue on her right hand. A small, delicate something on the left. A gold band.

Where did a peasant get such finery?

_Do not turn your back on this one._ "Who are you?" I demanded, given no hint of my nervousness.

Her brows drew together. I was struck by that gesture for reasons I could not fathom.

She said something unintelligible.

A madwoman? There were a few of those in Italy. Some could hide it well. Others betrayed it in speech or deed.

Some of us weren't entirely certain if it didn't exist in ourselves.

The woman once again shifted awkwardly. Then she shrugged—such a common gesture—as if she'd reached a decision she might regret. "_Donde esta la biblioteca_?" She offered a weak smile.

The what?

Suddenly the woman shut her eyes and sighed. The gold twinkled in the sunlight as she waved her hand, dismissing me.

She then walked away.

I was astonished. How dare she? I was the daughter of the pope, the leader of the church and a former princess in my own right. What incredible gall that woman had, to offer me such insult!

I would not be dismissed.

Blood boiling, I took hold of my skirt and stalked after the woman. "Look here!" I snapped, seizing her by the wrist-

-I was flying back and landing on the marble floor in a bone jarring heap, staring up at domed ceiling in a daze.

She gasped. "Oh no!"

That strength. She swatted me back like a fly. I slapped the hand that reached for me away and scrambled up as quickly as my dress would allow. She lurched back, embarrassment warring with regret in her features, but then her head snapped up and she stared at something beyond my shoulder.

Suddenly she cried out and dove for me. We landed again, and pain echoed through me, but I saw a blur of black pass us overhead.

An arm.

Another whirl. A man in a mask.

An assassin.

**to be continued...**


	3. Chapter 3

"Borgia whore," the assassin hissed. He brought his dagger down to pierce us both.

As though of one mind the woman and I rolled—so quickly the world blurred—and the blade clanged against the marble floor.

She let me go and I sprawled without her weight to counter me, heart pounding.

A booted foot lashed out and connected with the man's knee. He dropped down with a curse and the woman lurched up to backhand him so hard he fell as though struck by a man.

I scrambled to my feet, desperate to find a weapon or a way out.

She stood just as I realized there was nothing—not a single thing—that I could lift or tear from the wall to defend myself. Vulnerable. Why was no one running to our rescue?

The assassin growled and came up. I don't know why I grabbed the woman's sleeve. She was no one to me, but she was there and her arm had somehow reached across my torso as though to protect a child as we looked at this man who would end me. The mask was torn, hanging by a thread, and there was copper stain of blood trailing his exposed cheek.

He dove for us.

_Cesare...!_

The woman caught his wrist in midair, twisting. Bone snapped. He screamed out.

She snatched away the dagger and drove it into his chest.

It happened so fast, and yet each moment was blazed into my memory. The sound of the bone fracturing. The sudden terror in his eyes. The ease with which she disarmed him. The sinking of the blade and the gush of blood.

He was dead before he collapsed to the floor.

I stared. Dead? How could that have happened? I looked up at the woman's whose clothes my fingers twisted in so tightly. How?

She ripped herself away from my hold and retreated, turning her face from her victim. Her headscarf had come loose. Hair the color my own once was spilled from the depths of that dirty cloth. Her hand trembled where it hid her face from me. Her shoulders rose and fell with her panting.

There was nothing but the light that streamed in through the windows and silence in the wake of violence.

"How?" I whispered, my hands trembling. Yet I could not back away. I could not run. I was rooted to this spot, this woman, and the unbelievable speed that I witnessed. "How did you do that?"

I reached out for her shoulder, true fear gripping my heart.

She flinched from my touch, but in so doing stepped into one of the rays of light before the altar. The blood on her hand could not dull the twinkle of her ring. She was...a vision.

She began to hurry away.

Realization that she intended to run snapped me from my stupor. "Wait!" I dashed after her. She didn't seem to know where she was going, and we ended up in the Holy Virgin's alcove.

There was nowhere for her to run.

She must have realized that truth, for she spun left and right in an attempt find the exit. The only one was through me, and suddenly I knew without a doubt that I would not let her go until I discovered the truth.

"Are you one of Cesare's?" I asked. "Did he send you? What is your purpose?"

She paid no attention, growling her frustration at being trapped.

I seized her arm on instinct and pulled.

Revealing a face as beautiful as it was terrible. I recoiled with a gasp. Black lines across her skin, eyes that were not human. I fumbled for my necklace, the cross digging into my palm.

"A demon!"

Eyes wide, she shook her bloody hand at me. "No! No!" She pointed a finger at her self. "No demon." She stumbled over the word, her accent completely throwing the word off. Then she launched into some sort of explanation, none of which struck a cord of recognition within me. Even my large grasp of languages could not decipher her speech.

I grabbed on the wall behind me, mind racing. The light moved over her hair, catching the whitest strands and causing them to glow.

_Demons are meant to ensnare._

_Can demons set foot in God's house?_ Would they protect me from an attacker? Yet she had inhuman strength. Her face...

I shook my head.

The light of God destroys demons. Demons do not protect.

A gleam caught my eye. The Virgin Mary looked down at me over the woman's shoulder, serene in her prayers. She gazed upon us with that motherly air, completely unfazed by the creature in her presence. Surely if this woman was a demon, the Virgin would not suffer her? And what of God?

_Demons do not protect...but angels do._

She was not human. She did not speak any language that I recognized. Appearances were deceiving, and yet I had never heard of an unholy creature allowed into the depths of God's church.

I asked for guidance...perhaps...

I reached back and quickly unfastened my cross, holding it out to the woman with my blood coursing cold through my veins. "If you are not a demon, take it," I commanded, unable to hide my nervousness. I dared much and I knew it.

She frowned, glancing from the cross to me.

"Take it."

Her hand slowly extended. I dropped the chain.

She caught it. Held it. Raised her brows around her frown as if to say, _"What would you like me to do with this?"_

I waited with bated breath. She did not scream. Her flesh did not burn. The black lines were beginning to recede from her skin, leaving a young woman in their wake with bright blue eyes.

She blinked at me in question.

An angel. The weight of that realization caused my knees to weaken. I was forced to use the wall for support. "Thank God," I said, looking at the altar. "Thank you."

I did not know why an angel had been sent or for what purpose. I knew only that she protected me, and there was never a time when I needed heavenly guidance more.

My mind whirred. My faith had been proven.

It was almost too much to bear.

But the thought of the body behind us brought my senses rushing back. "We must go. We must leave. Come with me." I held out my hand.

We had to reach safety before we were discovered. A dead assassin was of no use for information. There was no reason to linger. What was more, I could not bear if someone discovered the angel.

It was a strange notion but I did not care. I knew only that blood had been spilled in the presence of a Borgia, in a cathedral of all places. These were dangerous times. We had to react swiftly. "Hurry!"

I did not wait for her response. I simply took her hand in mine and began to hurry toward the exist, pulling the heavenly creature behind me with every drop of urgency I had.

One always expects the world to react to one's sins, and yet the moment we stepped out of the door my fear was quashed; people lived and society continued, blissfully unaware of what had happened within the cathedral.

My maid was nowhere in sight. She was either dead or a traitor, and neither could be attended to at the moment.

I stopped only long enough to pull up my hood to hide my hair. A grand lady was always noticed in the streets, but my particular visage needed to be concealed as much as possible. I reached for her hand once more.

It was covered in blood. Of course. Only threading our arms together would give us any hope of going unnoticed. Simply a woman and her servant. I made sure to lean heavily, as if given to some injury, and limped my way down the stairs with her in tow.

She supported me as if I weighed nothing.

"Say nothing," I told her quietly. When she stared at me, confused, I mimed pressing my lips together.

Comprehension dawned. She nodded.

I patted her hand. Good.

My heart raced. I was holding the hand of an angel, or perhaps the closest to an angel I would ever encounter on this side of death. Some magical creature that defied comprehension. Without her I would have been dead, I had no doubt of that. In repayment of that I would shelter her, and perhaps find out what manner of being she truly was, if she indeed was not an angel.

Excitement lit in my veins. It seemed I had finally discovered one person that possessed even more secrets than I.

We were swept up by the tide of humanity with nary a ripple; home was some minutes' walk away, and I felt each second that went by keenly. The tension in her arm communicated her awareness of the situation. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching for any suspicious activity in the crowd, and yet I could sense her bewilderment. I was far more sure of my footing than she. Every noise, every person drew her attention. It was as if she'd never seen anything of the like before.

Another piece of proof.

Long ago, I tried to kill Juan for killing my beautiful Narcissus, and wished him dead a thousand times more for what he tried to do to my child. I despised the twisted thing he had become more than I despised even Sforza for his mistreatment, for Juan was family and Sforza only a pawn.

I poisoned my husband.

I harbored impure thoughts.

I hated.

I loved.

There were so many things for which God might never forgive me, but here was my chance to prove to Him and to myself that I was not completely lost.

The church was a beautiful, hypocritical theater that only the best of players were permitted to take part in. It was no place for the woman at my side, whether she was a heavenly servant or not. I would take her into my home and I would conceal her, hiding in plain sight.

Cesare would be suspicious. I knew he had his spies in my household. The better to protect me, I thought with only a trace of bitterness. He would know soon enough what had transpired today. I meant to be ready for him.

The assassin was no doubt from Naples, sent to avenge Alfonzo's death and the humiliation they had been dealt. Let Cesare take care of that.

Even as I thought that, I knew one day soon I would have to face him. I would be forced to confront all the turmoil that twisted me inside.

But not today.

Not yet.

The closer we came to home the more aware I became of her slowing down; I had resorted to pulling her behind me as one would a child. It was not until we reached my courtyard that I chanced a look at her face, however.

She was young, perhaps my age, with big eyes and a slightly pointed chin. Those eyes were filled with confusion, which in turn warred with a helplessness I easily recognized. It was as if the enormity of the world around her was beginning to dawn, and she wasn't all that certain what the next step was.

I squeezed her hand. "It will be alright."

The words may have been lost on her, but the gesture was not. She nodded once and patted herself on the chest. "Caroline."

Caroline. From _Carolina_, meaning strong. How apt. "Lucrezia Borgia."

A beat. Then her eyes went wide. "BOR—_Borgia_?" she finished in a harried whisper.

So even this creature understood the meaning behind that name. "Yes."

Her mouth was wide open. She had faced down an assassin not a quarter hour before, and yet she gaped at me as though I were Satan himself.

But then... "Wow," she breathed, suddenly grinning. "Lucrezia Borgia."

She had perfect teeth. Remarkably so.

Then she laughed.

xxxxx

"My lord."

I turned toward the shadows the voice had drifted from, the man within hidden from sight. Exactly as it should be. This was my mother's house, and I refused to be seen plotting against her daughter in the open.

_Lucrezia_.

She was avoiding me. I wanted to know why.

I dismissed the man I was speaking with and ambled to the wall. It was early evening. Supper would be on soon. A supper that I was informed Lucrezia had already declined to attend. Her servant had come and gone not twenty minutes ago. She cited poor health.

Mother and the Holy Father accepted the excuse readily enough, but their patience was wearing almost as thin as mine. Now was the time for family to be together. To go and hide herself was ridiculous. Unnecessary.

Bewildering.

This reminded me too much of Ursula Bonedeo. How she recoiled from me and ran to the convent.

But Ursula was not family. She was not Lucrezia. No force on Earth could sever the bonds between my sister and I, and should I ever encounter such a thing I would not allow it to live long.

That I could promise.

I leaned on the warm wall. "What do you have for me?"

"The Lady Lucrezia has not taken to her bed as stated, my lord. She has a houseguest."

My hands tightened to fists at my side. "A man?" A lover? If so he would not see another sunset.

"A woman. A foreigner who does not speak Italian. The lady has taken her in."

A foreigner? One that did not speak the language? What was Lucrezia thinking?

"There was a body discovered in the cathedral, my lord. The corpse was nondescript, but I do not believe it a coincidence that Lady Lucrezia is said to have been at confession earlier in the day. And now with the appearance of this new woman-"

"Go and have my horse readied. Now."

No sooner had I given the order than another servant bustled through in a hurry, message in hand. So the news of the corpse was to reach the Holy Father's ear. Would that news include Lucrezia's presence? I doubted it. Our servants were well paid not to gossip. If one of them did let slip that she had been there, that person would know the Borgia wrath soon enough.

I caught a girl by the arm and instructed her to notify my mother of my pending absence. I wanted to see Lucrezia. Now. No more waiting. Never again.

_**To be continued...**_


	4. Chapter 4

"What the hell do you mean, _Caroline's gone_?" Colby's fingers flashed overhead in an aggressive display of quotation marks. "Gone where? To France? Shopping? Back to Mayberry?"

My jaw flexed. "I suggest you take measures to restrain your lover, Artie, else I will not be responsible for my actions."

"First of all, _husband_," the ginger former roommate corrected, waving the wedding ring to prove it. "Second, you can't just say Caroline is gone and not expect me to worry!"

Artie lifted one hand from the steering wheel and put it on Colby's knee. "Take it easy, handsome. This is not a beast you want to poke right now."

Only my love of Caroline stayed my hand. More than once in the last ten years did I consider doing away with the annoying human and simply lying about it.

Unfortunately my wife had a sixth sense about such things, and there were certain acts she did not forgive.

The fact that Colby had proven useful many times over was irrelevant.

"My Terra is gone," Colby protested, her old name slipping out. "He's not giving up details. How am I supposed to know who to sic you on if he doesn't tell me?"

"The culprit is very much dead and has been for centuries," I growled. "We are not looking for the perpetrator. We are looking for someone who will find Caroline. Only witches can do that."

He absorbed that. "So we're going into the heart of witch country in New Orleans to...ask politely or skip the pleasantries? For the record, last time the second part did not work well. And if we don't want to owe anybody favors, we need something to trade."

"Thank you for stating the obvious, Colby. I feel sufficiently enlightened now." Killing him was not strictly necessary, I reflected darkly. Tearing out a tongue would not end his life.

"I'm thinking out loud, okay? So...who wants what?" He sat back in his seat, rubbing his forehead. It was his job to keep track of the witches. He kept a finger on the pulse of the community and me informed of their activities. His information was, sadly enough, invaluable.

I tossed the necklace into his lap. Better to get it out of my sight.

He picked it up. "What the hell d'you do to it?" he wondered, looking at the blood. "And...wow. Pearls and diamonds. That's impressive." Suddenly he was all business. "Who did it belong to?"

"A bitch I would like to resurrect simply for the pleasure of killing her again."

"Powerful?"

"Powerful enough to reach across the ages and somehow snatch my wife out from under my nose." Someone would pay for that the moment Caroline was back in my arms.

My fist curled on my leg. We could not move fast enough for my taste. I turned to stare out of the window, despising the bright lights and sense of gaiety New Orleans liked to flash at its visitors. Useless. The hedonism, the hopefulness was only half of the vision. It was the seedy underbelly I needed now.

I would not come out of witch territory until someone gave me answers. Persuasion, charm, violence—all of it was within the spectrum of possibility.

Other cars flashed by.

"Katra might want it," Colby said after a moment's pause. "She's one of the shiftier witches. She doesn't actually like you, but nobody actually likes you, so that's not a problem."

"What is with you today?" Artie asked.

Colby glared but lapsed into silence, doing some of his own staring.

The street lights glinted off of Artie's blond hair as he glanced at his husband. "Hey."

Colby ignored him.

"_Hey_." He squeezed the other man's knee. "We are going to get her back."

Colby did not look his way. "I thought we were done with this shit," he admitted in a strained voice.

A personal jab? I felt it as such. That this was my fault, consequences to actions that my arrogance convinced me could never come to fruition. _"I do not love."_

Fool. I loved with a passion that frightened even the bravest of souls. I loved with darkness and obsession. I loved with a need that Caroline had never quite matched, for which I was grateful. She was my wife because she consented to love and want me. She never needed me.

But I desperately needed her.

If those foolish witches knew what was good for them, they would comply with my request. I would ask politely only once. Then I would show them how vital it was that she be returned to my side.

They had not yet seen even a fraction of what I was capable of.

We pulled into a back street some twenty minutes later. My rage simmered beneath the surface, aching for an outlet.

The edifice was nondescript. One might have mistaken it for a thousand other apartment buildings in New Orleans if not for the very distinct whiff of magic emanating from it. I did not wait for Artie or Colby; I shoved open the locked door, not caring if it screeched under the pressure. All it took was following my nose. In no time at all I stood before another door.

Number thirteen. Droll.

I knocked.

The woman that opened it was what I would call a typical witch—of nondescript age and descent. She might have been a Native American woman in her forties. She may have been one of the many French Creole mixes that bound New Orleans to its roots. It really didn't matter. Whatever her age, I outranked her by a very long stretch. "Katra, I presume?"

She leaned on the door, eyeing me up and down. "Well, if it isn't the Original himself. Didn't think I'd see you in this part of town for a while."

The smile I aimed at her had not one trace of humor. "I come bearing gifts." I held up my hand to indicate Colby.

Katra glanced over, and a sultry smile of welcome grew. "Why there's my favorite ginger," she purred.

Colby smiled back.

Artie stepped to the fore, arms crossed over his chest.

Her smile dimmed. "And the husband. Of course."

"Katra," he greeted coolly.

"Whatchu bring me today, darlin'?"

Colby pulled the necklace from his pocket and held it up. The gems glistened.

Avarice blossomed in Katra's face. "Where did you get that?"

I blocked her view, looming close. "I am more interested in answers than questions."

Safe on the other side of her threshold, she showed no fear. "I'm listening."

"My wife is gone thanks to that little trinket. I want to know where, and how to fetch her back."

Her brows arched. "That's all you want?" she asked dubiously. "No conditions, no addendum?"

How I longed to reach out and shake her for wasting precious moments. _Steady on. You need her. _"A straight trade. That necklace for what I wish to know."

Her eyes slid to the chain that still dangled from Colby's fingers. She chewed on her lip, no doubt trying to work through the bargain to catch any downsides. She would find none, and for that she ought to have been immensely grateful.

She smiled. "Nature does love its balance. Payment for a service rendered should do the trick." She crooked her finger at Colby. "Come on in, darlin'."

I made to step forward.

"Not you," she barked. The barrier between the hall and the apartment flared, blocking me.

A growl grew in my throat.

"And not you," she said to Artie. "Just him. My salon is open to a very select few, gentlemen." She stepped aside in invitation. "This way, ginger."

Artie grunted, but nodded when Colby glanced at him.

I waited for the red head to step over the barrier that I could not. "Make it quick, witch. I don't have time to be lingering in your corridor. Are we clear?"

"The deal's struck, baby. I'll have him back out in a jiffy. Bye, _husband_."

The door shut and the lock tumbled.

"I really don't like that woman," Artie said bluntly.

I was not interested in what he did or did not like, but in this case I was inclined to agree. "If this works, you have my permission to do as you like with her."

"And if it doesn't?"

"Then I'm afraid there won't be anything of her left for you to play with." That dark promise hung between us.

The minutes dragged on. I began to pace.

Artie stayed parked in front of the door, eyes and ears open for movement. "You're handling this better than I thought."

I was a lion trapped in a very small cage. "Your remarkable gift for understatement astounds me."

"The princess knows what she's doing. Wherever she is, she's handling it."

In a move too fast for the human eye I seized him by the collar. "_Do not try to placate me_," I snarled.

He met my gaze without flinching. "I'm telling you the facts. You go off on this witch, we may not have anyone to turn to when shit goes down again." He tapped my wrist. "You're ruining the starch job."

I glared. "Give me a reason not to tear your heart out."

"Name the last person that's been this loyal to you."

A cry split the tension, then a heavy thump and a crash. Artie flashed from my grip and banged a fist on the door. "Colby? Colby, talk to me."

The door swung open. There was the ginger roommate, propping Katra up with one arm and bracing himself with the other. The smell of blood wafted up.

Her nose.

She glared at me. "_Where_ did you say you got that necklace?"

I had no time for this. "What did you learn?"

"Whoever put that curse on your necklace was pissed. The fires of Hell had nothin' on it. Used up every last bit of her magic to infuse that thing." She shook off Colby and ran a hand over her hair to set herself to rights. "Whatever you did to her, darlin', you did it well."

"Where is my wife?" I bit out.

"It is not where, sugar, it is when. That spell picked up your wife and hurled her back in time. No destination. She landed wherever she landed, and that was that."

Time travel. Not death. If I believed in a god I would send a prayer of thanks, but that question remained. "That seems a bit dramatic," I forced myself to say. "Why not simply kill her?"

Colby narrowed his eyes at me.

Katra snorted. "Which one would hurt you more? Death or knowing you couldn't get to her?"

"Oh, but I can get to her." I braced my hands on either side of the door. "You are going to help me. That was our deal."

"And so it was," she agreed, "but believe me when I say you are not gonna like it."

"Of that I have no doubt." I leaned just a fraction closer, ignoring the racing of my own heart. "Where is she?"

"In Italy," Colby answered dully, slumping against his side of the door. "1500." He looked at me. "She's in the Renaissance."

The Renaissance. A time of art, debauchery, and a blood lust that rivaled my own. A place that was as foreign to my modern wife as the moon, where she had no money and no language with which to procure some.

Wood cracked. We all glanced at my claws digging into the doorframe. "Well," I said after a moment, "that _is_ a problem."

I could barely recall where I was in 1500. In the middle of a rampage, no doubt, searching for that treacherous Katerina and releasing the tension on everyone and everything unlucky enough to cross my path. Nowhere in my memory did I have a recollection of meeting Caroline in my travels, though I knew deep down in my chilled heart I would have barely taken note of her then. If I had, chances were I would have killed her and forgotten it.

I shut my eyes up tight, willing that thought away. Caroline had an inkling of what I was like then. She wouldn't dare come near me. No, if I knew my wife she would immediately search out a power source, a witch most likely, to try and return.

Without knowledge of middle Italian and a fear of witches an ever constant threat, however, her chances of success on that plan were low.

Retrieving her was the best course of action. The danger was too much, my patience nonexisting. I needed her back. Now.

I carefully withdrew my claws and stepped back. I had a purpose. I merely needed to take the steps to accomplish it. "What do you need from me, witch?"

"Blood. A lot of it."

"Done."

"Wait!" Colby interrupted. "What kind of blood?"

Katra, no doubt wondering at the mental capacity of the boy, turned to him. "Blood is blood, sugar. I'm not worried about A positive and O negative here."

"No I mean does it matter who it comes from? Caroline will be pissed if innocents are slaughtered in her name."

Now was not the time for semantics.

"Go into the state max and kill all the child molesters if you've got moral issues to deal with. It'll work just fine. As long as it's six."

I tilted my head. "Six?"

"Yep. Nice round number. Now let's get to the part you aren't gonna like."

"Does nobody else feel weird about having this conversation in the hall?" Colby interjected.

Artie grunted his agreement.

"Protection spell, baby. You aren't dealing with an amateur. Your passport up to date? Because you gotta go to Italy to make this happen."

"Caroline was snatched from my home. What does location matter?"

Katra rolled her eyes. "The type of magic that took her was born from some serious soul-sucking intensity. You got that kind lying around? If not, go to Italy. It's just gonna make your life easier. Think of it as getting closer to the wifi router."

Fair enough. "Anything else?"

"Two things. To counterbalance the extreme magic mojo put into that particular curse, you have to wait for one of those moons that multiplies a witch's power threefold. Unfortunately for you, that's not for another seven months."

"Unacceptable."

"May I remind you what it took to break your curse?"

"You know...it's been a while since there was a good house fire in New Orleans. I think it's about time we remedy that." I reached into my pocket and pulled out an old fashioned Zippo lighter. "We go very far back, this and I. We had some good times together." I flicked it open and the flame blazed. "How well do you know your witch-hunting history, Katra?"

She glared at me, no trace of warm Southern humor to be found.

"What? No endearments? No more bad news?" Open. Close. Open. Close. Open.

She swept a hand out. The flame leaped from the lighter to her palm. A wiggle of her fingers and it began to dance. "I was gonna tell you that you'll have to find yourself a new witch. I don't work for free and I don't work for you. You don't take bad news well."

"Then give me something good."

"Our deal was that I find your wife and tell you how to get her back. Did that. Balance is restored. Conscience is clear." She made a fist, snuffing out the spark.

"You told me to cool my heels while my wife is trapped in the Italian Renaissance. Hardly glad tidings."

"I don't recall that being part of my job description."

"What would it take to make it your job description?"

Colby slapped his own forehead.

Katra chuckled. "You've got balls, I'll give you that. Bribe then threaten me. Stories I've heard about you tell me that's just the beginning. If only you didn't have a history of being completely crazy. This might have been a profitable relationship."

The avarice in her eyes was alive and well, daring me to make an offer.

The Bennett witch thought everything depended on a strict balance of Nature and some other shite. The truth was that balance was very open to interpretation.

My will was not.

I slanted a glance at Artie. "Make this happen," I growled, then turned on my heel and walked away.

"Where are you going?"

"I have six people to slaughter," I tossed back.

"We don't need them yet-"

"_Oh, but I do_."

_**Saturday the fifth. **_

**Horrific Prison Murders. Police Suspect Mass Mafia Hit. **

xxxxx

This could definitely have been worse.

Which probably said a lot about how I'd led my life for the last twelve years.

_Lucrezia Borgia_, I repeated for the thousandth time to myself, watching a guy run around me with needles and thread. I was up on a stool and being outfitted for the most gorgeous dress. Long and blue and beautiful, and God, it reminded me so much of the gown Klaus once gave me that it was all I could do not to cry.

Where was he? Did he know I was gone? If he did, what was he doing? Besides losing his mind. He'd go to the witches, that much was certain, but what the hell could they possibly do?

I stared up at the ceiling. It was a masterpiece, of course. Everything about this place was unbelievable. There was no reason to suddenly burst into tears. People were watching. Lucrezia was in a corner, scribbling on paper like crazy. The quill was moving like lightning. Whatever she had to say, there was a lot and she had to get it out quickly.

Come to think of it, weren't dresses supposed to take a wicked long time to complete here? How as I getting this so fast?

I glanced at Lucrezia's desk and the chest on it. The one I was pretty sure had money in it. Gold was not in short supply here. She must have had him give me someone else's dress and was paying for his time.

I couldn't be totally sure, but I was getting the distinct feeling she thought that I was an angel.

Crazy, I know, but what else was that crucifix thing about? _And_ we were in a church, _and_ she saw my vamp face, _and_ I'd just saved her life.

This was a really big problem. My fortunes had totally improved by meeting her; I wasn't going to have to sleep in the streets or try not to get murdered for being a demon, but what if she was expecting me to perform some kind of miracle? What if she was telling her dad about me? He was still pope, right?

I REALLY should have paid more attention to those wikipedia pages I read about her.

Also, why didn't I learn Italian instead of German? Would have been so helpful. How was I supposed to express complicated ideas with just my hands and feet? I mean, there was a huge difference between_ hey, I love your shoes_ and _I realize you're under the assumption that I'm heaven sent and I'd like to correct that. While I'm at it I'll explain that I am not evil despite being a vampire and I really need to get home to my husband before he destroys a city. _

Yeah, that would go over well.

I almost slumped off of the stool. Only training and willpower kept me on it.

I needed to set her straight. First, because it was the right thing to do. Second...well, I was going to have to be careful with making assumptions, but if I worded it the right way and skimmed over the vampire part of the whole thing, she _might_ be okay with it.

The real trick would be to find out where I could find a witch. Even asking could be trouble. Witch burning, anyone?

Not finding a witch, though, meant staying here. I just couldn't do that. Sure I could wait out the five hundred years and just stroll into New Orleans at the right moment, but I didn't want to. Five hundred freakin' years? No way. I wanted my husband. I wanted to make sure he was okay. I wanted to buy new clothes and finish moving and kickstart our lives again.

I _did not_ want to go through the outbreaks of plague, lack of hygiene, raging social and racial prejudice, and God help the first idiot that tried to pull the "you're a woman" card.

Plus I'd watched my movies. Space-time continuum? You don't try to change things. It's a bad idea.

A servant—an honest to God servant—came into the room, looking frazzled. He spoke fast, like he had to get it out before something happened, and that's just when another guy walked into the room like he owned it.

I barely stifled a groan. Now what?

"Cesare Borgia," the servant announced.

_You have got to be freakin' kidding me. _

_**To be continued...**_


End file.
